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Sebastian raises his voice. “I want you to do something besides sit around and feel sorry for yourself.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “There it is. There’s the truth. You sick of me being here? Sick of the charity case?” He’s hit a nerve, and my thoughts and emotions have gone from zero to sixty.
Sebastian’s jaw hardens. “No. It’s not that.”
“I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around. I guess with all that’s happened…” I think of Callie and it hurts. I think of my football career, over just as it was beginning. That hurts, too. I’m angry about it. “…I needed some time to figure things out.”
“You’ve been hunkering down in that little house like a hermit. Mom’s worried.”
So that’s part of it, too. None of us boys want to worry Mom.
“She asked you to give me a job?” I ask.
He tilts his head and raises his chin. “She asked me to encourage you to go home for a few weeks.”
I shudder. She’s asked me to come home, too. But there’s no way I’m going to be spending any extended amount of time in the same house as my dad.
“And you told her no?”
“We’re all a little sick of the sorry sack routine.” He holds up his palms. “Everyone’s been dancing around it for a while.”
“Routine? Really?” My throat grows dry and I shift in my chair. “I’ve been helping. I’ve been doing stuff.”
“I know. And Oliver and I are grateful. But it’s not like you’re getting any satisfaction from it. You think being a bellhop sometimes is good for you? I mean, maybe at first, but not anymore. You gotta start living your life again, Alec.”
“Well, thanks for the offer, but becoming your CEO of Fun is not my idea of living a full life. That’s just stupid, Sebastian.” Even as I say it, I know I’m going to say yes. Even though the other three brothers aren’t here at the resort most of the time, Sebastian and Oliver are. As much as we all fight and get on each other’s nerves, they’re all I’ve got.
“We won’t call it that, Alec. I can talk to the board about a title—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t need the board involved. Just…just say I’m some sort of director.”
Director of Being a Washed-Up Has Been?
“Fine. For now. I’ll add you to the payroll. It might be nice to have some money coming in again.”
It would be nice. The money from my two seasons as a Wolves running back, although substantial, isn’t going to last forever.
“Thanks,” I mumble and get up to leave. I don’t want to limp, but I can’t have everything I wish for, can I?
I am grateful. I really am. That doesn’t mean I like being my brother’s charity case.
Sebastian only responds quietly. “Thank you, Alec.”
Part of me is glad he told it to me straight. All this sympathy and making concessions for me had to stop sometime. A flicker of something that might smell like hope scratches just beneath the surface. At least I can do something more meaningful with my time until I figure out how the rest of my life is going to turn out.
Chapter 3
Oakley
I’m eating breakfast in the corner eatery on the main floor of the Tate International resort. The neutral colors in the room are balanced with black and white, buffalo plaid placemats on the small, round, blonde oak tables. Large windows allow a ray of sunlight to hit my table, warming me. It’s tucked-in and cozy in this otherwise fancy place, and I love that it’s late enough in the morning that there aren’t many people here.
Thank you, solitude.
I was up at five like always this morning, my alarm jolting me out of a dreamless cocoon of sleep. It was the first real sleep I’ve had since everything went down. But I couldn’t muster any appetite to steer me to the eatery until a little while ago.
I feel my phone vibrate on the table next to my plate, and when I see it’s Lizzy, I quickly send the call to voicemail. I texted her yesterday to let her know I’d arrived and that yes, the resort is amazing, thanking her for the recommendation. But I can’t bring myself to talk right now.
It’s nice to be here alone, to eat breakfast by myself, to be able to choose what I want to do. Which, in this case, means not much of anything.
